Honeyed Words by J. A. Pitts

with the back of my hand. I bet they have a peephole in here. The mirror was on the sidewall, however. The one that backed to the rest of the room.
    “I’m afraid you have lost me, smith.”
    “Can we meet in person?” I asked him, feeling strange.
    “Perhaps that would be best,” he said. “Juanita suggests we meet for dinner on your way back home.”
    “Excellent.”
    I walked back out into the room and wrote the name and address of the restaurant on a hotel notepad.
    I plugged the cell phone back into the charger and looked over at Katie. Maybe we should bag dinner. She looked like she was good to sleep through the night.
    Katie’s suitcase sat open on the chair by the window. On top she’d laid out her frilly underthings. I traced my hands down the white silk camisole. She was such a girl. Her blouse and skirt were hanging in the closet; the top was a short black number with very thin straps. Nice. I’d never seen this outfit. It could be new for the weekend. I never even thought of doing that, buying something new, pretty …
    I glanced over at my own suitcase. Things were jammed in there with no thought to keeping pleats straight or preventing unnecessary wrinkles—just not on my radar. I dropped the robe, grabbed her things still on their hangers, and walked to the mirror over the dresser.
    I held the clothes up, checking how I’d look in them. It was startling. Totally not something I’d ever wear, dear god. And these would never fit me, much too small. And I couldn’t pull off a skirt—all that shaving, and waxing, primping … the underwear alone would kill me.
    But I had to admit it wasn’t that bad. Wouldn’t the world be stunned to see me all shorn and spiffy. I glanced over at Katie, sleeping curled up in her sweats. Would she like it if I femmed up? I didn’t want her to change, and I couldn’t imagine she’d want me to, either. But what if?
    It was complicated. I didn’t want to fall into stereotype here. If I decided to shave my legs and put on a skirt one day, I’d like it to be on my terms and not cause the world to shift on its axis.
    As I turned, the tattoos on my calf came into view. Who was I kidding, the world had already tilted damn near off its axis. I had tattoos erupt through the skin on my calf just from reforging and handling a magic sword. I’d killed a dragon and rescued an elder god. Hell, I’d even been kissed by a Valkyrie.
    That was a moment that takes your breath away.
    Guiltily, I returned her outfit to the closet, turned off the lights, and slipped into bed with her. Maybe we just needed the night to recover. It had been a rough couple of days.
    Besides, my head swam with the whirl of roles and expectations. I just wanted to be me.

Eleven
     
    I woke early—like 4 A.M. —and got dressed in the dark. Katie’s soft breathing told me she still slept. She was going to be pissed she slept through her birthday dinner, but I didn’t have the heart to wake her. Or maybe I was just being selfish and scared.
    Once I had my sweats and sneakers on, I grabbed my running pack and wrote out a quick note. A run would do me good. I felt tight, wound up. Kicking out a few miles would change that.
    Ninety minutes later, my muscles were humming, and the endorphins were kicking in. I love the way I feel after a run. Wish I could remember to do it more often.
    Katie was still asleep when I got back to the room. I’d shower first, and then wake her.
    I stripped down and saw the open bottle of nail polish on the vanity. Of course … I glanced down. Three toes on one foot painted, the rest naked. Figured I couldn’t concentrate long enough to finish one foot.
    Waste of eight bucks. The bottle made a forlorn thud as I dropped it into the trashcan. That’s what I got for trying to be someone I’m not.
    After a quick shower, I puttered around the room, making noise while I packed, hoping to wake her. After a few minutes I got a wet washcloth and wiped her face with it, and she